


Sneaking with the Fishes

by voksen



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, Gen, Take a Third Option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, just walking up and saying "Hey, Harper. That strange-looking Zhent over there just asked me to rob you," didn't strike Maren as particularly subtle... or survivable.</p><p>But then, that wasn't unusual when it came to Xzar's plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sneaking with the Fishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blueinkedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueinkedfrost/gifts).



> With all thanks to L. and my betas W. and M.

Athkatla smelled like old fish in a way Candlekeep on its high cliffs never had; sour rot instead of dust and paper was _not_ a good deal, city beloved of Waukeen or not. The odor had gotten worse as they moved through the docks, and here, standing by a fish stall, Maren could hardly recognize the sea breeze at all.

It was the least of the bad trades she'd made recently, she thought. Leaning against a salt-crusted barrel - her clothes and armor already smelled vile enough that it could hardly make them worse - she watched Jan talk to the fishmonger about the taxes, fees, and unfair regulations that apparently plagued the city. He and Yoshimo had fought well enough, she had to admit, when they'd happened on thugs in a back alley of the slums earlier that morning. But still - she missed Imoen's steady presence by her side; missed Khalid’s stammers and his sword arm; missed Jaheira's spells and staff.

Jan wandered back over, having more likely worn out his welcome than his fount of conversation. "It shouldn't take much longer," she said, hoping to forestall a discussion of how fish sales differed from the turnip business.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Jan replied. "You know, it really was quite brave of him to volunteer to go sneaking off into a Harpers' den to go investigating the disappearance of a thief who vanished while sneaking into the same place. Why, it reminds me of the time that my uncle Aloysius lost his whole crop to the birds despite the top of the line new scarecrow he'd bought. Have I told you this one yet?"

"You have not," said Yoshimo, fading out of the growing shadows without warning and sending both of them scrambling for blade and bow. "But I imagine he stood up on the pole to do the job himself and the crows flew back and carried him away, yes?"

Jan blinked, but regrouped quickly. "I see news of his adventures must have spread all the way to Kara-Tur!" he said, sliding the bolt back into his quiver. "Imagine that, Mary, my very own uncle."

"Right," Maren sighed. She couldn't even be annoyed at Yoshimo; it was too much like the tricks Imoen had used to pull on her constantly, back home and all the way to Baldur’s Gate, a familiar shock in a strange place. Glancing around revealed no one in sight except the fishmonger, now packing up his stall as evening fell. As Yoshimo had just so ably demonstrated, that didn't necessarily mean anything, but as even the walls no doubt had ears, there wasn't much to be done about that. She’d have to rely on her companions' keen senses to spot any spies. "What did you find?"

"Ah," Yoshimo smiled. "There I have good news for you, I think. Their doorman might be canny, but the rest of their security is somewhat lacking, shall we say? The second story has no such guards, nor locks to bar our passing."

It seemed suspicious that Harpers would leave themselves vulnerable like that - maybe Jan had been right when he thought Yoshimo had been walking into danger - but Maren thought anything seemed more solid than going straight up to the doorman again and asking to be let in. She might not have known Yoshimo long enough to trust him completely, but she knew for certain that Xzar's plans sometimes had... unfortunate... results for people who weren't fond of the idea of ending up as research specimens. "Then we've only to get past him to the stairs," she said, uncomfortably aware that _she_ was no sneakthief.

"Well, that's no trouble," Jan put in, "so long as Yoshi here can provide us a nice little distraction to take their minds off of us. A little bit of illusion here, a noise over there, and no one will even notice that clanking armor of yours."

"I thought you weren't registered with the Cowled Wizards," Maren said quickly, before Yoshimo had a chance to object to the nickname.

"Oh well," Jan said cheerfully. "I _may_ have nicked a scrap or two before we left the Government District earlier. It’s not really _my_ permit, if you want to get technical about it, but it should hold a time or two before they come to investigate. Unless, of course, someone’s already reported it stolen, but what are the chances of that?”

It seemed like a risk, but what in her life didn't? Maren checked the straps of her plate, hoisted her pack on her shoulders, and nodded.

  


A short, awkward run across the district later - it was remarkably inconvenient to be unable to see your companions, she discovered - she stopped in sight of the Harpers' stronghold. The stairs Yoshimo had mentioned were there, all right, but they began down below the seawall, with no easy access from where she stood. Most likely the Harpers had a private dock down there, she thought. They'd need to, if they were going to keep their noses into everything without getting them cut straight off their faces.

Without warning, Jan's small hand found hers and she bit back a gasp. It must have been his magic that let him see her - she hadn't had a clue where either he or Yoshimo were since the moment the spell had settled on them. He squeezed gently, apparently meaning it as a warning, as immediately afterwards there was an almighty _crunch_ from the other side of the building, followed by a wave of fresh stench and another of cursing: if she’d had to guess, she'd have said Yoshimo's idea of a good distraction involved several barrels of overripe fish meeting the side of the building at a decent speed.

The doorman, gagging, hurried off to inspect the crash; Maren gave him a good start, then squeezed Jan's hand back, pulled hers free, and headed to the edge of the sea wall to get a better look. There was the private dock, just as she'd suspected.

"We should hurry." Yoshimo's whisper came eerily out of the nothingness beside her. "It is a fair mess, but I doubt it will keep him long. I left a rope tied just down there."

"I'll go first," Maren murmured back, finding the rope where he'd said it would be, fastened to an iron ring about a foot down on the outside of the wall. _You've faced worse heights on the cliffs at home_ , she told herself sternly - though to be fair she hadn't been wearing fifty pounds of metal strapped to herself at the time - and clambered over the edge, letting herself down as quickly as she could.

Jan followed, the rope barely moving under his invisible weight, and then Yoshimo after him. Once she heard the faint noise of their boots on the deck, she started for the stairs, walking carefully on the edges - a trick picked up from long-ago expeditions with Imoen - to avert creaks.

On the terrace atop the roof there were two doors, in fact, and Maren looked between them uncertainly before one of them eased itself soundlessly open. She crossed to it in time to hear Jan's chuckle and soft "Don't mind if I do!"

She followed Jan down the stairs into one of the strange Amnish communal bedrooms that always reminded her of the barracks from back home. No sooner had her foot touched the final step than there was a sharp, pained cry from the next room, only barely muffled by the closed door. Startled, Maren stumbled and would have fallen but for Yoshimo behind her, who caught her still-invisible shoulder with lightning reflexes and held her up ‘til she could regain her footing. She nodded her thanks wordlessly, knowing he'd feel it, and took the last step down.

She felt him brush by towards the door, presumably to listen in more closely; but the familiar _thud_ of something striking flesh was perfectly audible from where she stood, as was the hoarse "No! I'll tell ye no more, Harper filth!" that followed.

 _Montaron_ , she thought.

It would have been worse if she hadn't been half-expecting it, but any illusions she'd had about the Harpers and their missions of _good_ had been shattered in Irenicus's dungeon, when Jaheira had left Khalid dead on that damned table, refusing to even hear of bringing him out and selling whatever they had to for a resurrection.

 _Leave no one behind_ , Maren had screamed at her, and the druid had returned fire with _unnatural_ and _polluted_ until Imoen had started crying in harsh, frantic sobs. _How natural am I!_ Maren had snarled, thinking of her brother, her Father, of every knife and spell Irenicus had taken to her and Imoen, the same brutal scars mirrored on Khalid's corpse.

Jaheira had left them then, though not before melting the stone floor to mud - the table, and the body, had sunk into it instantly, before Maren could get to it to carry Khalid out against his wife's wishes. Maren had spent hours afterwards going over every memory, trying to make sense of it, wondering whether Jaheira would have left _her_ , wondering if even Gorion might have abandoned her as unnatural in time-

Another thud brought her back to the present in a hurry - then footsteps, barely audible, and the opening and closing of doors in the distance. She stayed silent and still: getting caught and going down in an attempt to fight all the Harpers in Athkatla at once wouldn't do Montaron any good.

Doors again, and far off, the creak of old stairs before Yoshimo crept soundlessly back to her. "They're gone," he said, "but there may be something else out there."

"We _will_ get him out of here even if there is," Maren said. She must have sounded grimmer than she thought; there was a slight, uncomfortable pause.

"As you say, of course,” Yoshimo said eventually. “I wouldn't like to leave anyone to those tender attentions, especially no friend of yours, Maren. Though... between the Shadow Thieves and the Harpers, you are making some dangerous enemies."

"They'll find out I'm dangerous enough myself." She crossed to the door, and, much as she wanted to throw it wide, eased it gently open a crack, enough to look through with one eye.

A blurry figure stood in front of the fireplace in the next room. Though Maren was no expert, it didn't look quite like the protective spells she'd seen - and besides, the firelight shone clear through it. A ghost, maybe, though she hadn't heard that Harpers kept trust with the undead. Well, there was a lot she didn't know about them. She eased away from the door and turned slightly, trusting that the others would be there behind her. "There's definitely something there," she said under her breath.

Now that she was watching closely, she could almost see her partners move to the door - a slight _wrongness_ in the air, not quite so visible as a shimmer, one higher and one lower as they both looked out the crack at the same time. The door shut quietly again.

"A spirit of some sort," Yoshimo murmured once it was closed. "Most likely a fallen protector of this building, I think."

"Oh, definitely," Jan agreed. "Using necromancy to guard treasure is very popular in these parts, you know, and-"

"Jan. Not now."

"You should be more willing to learn from history," he chided.

Turnips could wait. "I will - later," she said again. "We're not here for treasure, anyway - we need to kill that thing, find Montaron, and get out, not loot the place. Xzar's the only person in this whole damned country who hasn't demanded an insane sum of money to tell me what I need to know, and I intend to make use of him."

"An excellent idea," said Yoshimo. "However, if it _is_ a guardian spirit, it may be able to raise an alarm of some sort to summon aid."

Jan cleared his throat - quietly. " _As_ I was saying," he said, sounding almost gleefully huffy, "before I was _interrupted_ , Aunt Petunia - the ranger, you know - dealt with more than a few undead beasties in her time. But I'm sure her secrets can wait until later..."

Maren closed her eyes and asked for patience, though the Gods, unsurprisingly, had never been any great hand at answering her prayers. "What do you suggest we do, Jan?”

"Why, stun it first, of course. It's really a pity that we don't have a bushel of turnips, but a Flasher Master Bruiser Mate or two ought to do the trick. It'll be dead - well, deader - before it can sound the alarm!"

  


It was a good idea, and it would have been a good plan - except there were three ghosts instead of just the one they'd seen from the doorway. What started as a quick and easy kill quickly turned into a complete brawl when the other two drifted out and caught Maren and Yoshimo, now perfectly visible, with their blades hilt-deep in spectral flesh.

The ghosts had barely opened translucent mouths when, from the edge of the room, Jan threw something suspiciously vegetal into their midst. Maren had only half a second to wonder about it before it landed, the magical aura following it silencing everything, even her own racing heart.

Yoshimo nodded encouragingly to her, yanking his blade out of their first foe and backing away.

It shuddered and dissolved as the metal twisted loose, freeing Maren's sword as well. She swung immediately for the second spirit with a broad, showy slash, not knowing how long Jan's magic would last – but the sooner these were dead, the better, and the bigger the target she made of herself, the quicker Yoshimo and Jan could cut them down.

Her sword drove deep into its half-solid body just as the other clawed low across her plate-clad legs. The ghosts had no weapons, but they didn't _need_ any; the chill of its dead hands bit through her armor like acid, leaving deep, grasping pains. She gasped, breathless at the shock of it; the slight healing jolt from her sword helped, but not enough.

Yoshimo was circling around behind them, though, she saw – in another few seconds he'd be perfectly placed if she managed to keep their attention. A second, wilder swing caught the same ghost she'd injured before; it flailed back, but barely managed to graze her arm before Jan's bolt took it in the chest and it disappeared like the first.

She stumbled back out of the way of the last ghost as it came after her, obviously enraged at the death of its companions, and it grabbed for her hands, tearing at her as it tried to wrest her sword away. Yoshimo took it with an unvoiced _kiai!_ as she tried to fight it off, his katana biting so deep into the ghost's unguarded back that it vanished instantly. The sudden release of her hands unbalanced her so she sat – abruptly – with what should have been a horrible crash.

 _Hell_ , she said silently, and twisted around to raise an eyebrow at Jan.

“Well done, fought just like Aunt Petunia,” he beamed. “Oh, don't worry. That spell won't last much longer. They say the Blackstaffs can work wonders with it, but I'm having a terrible time getting it to stick; the turnips keep _sprouting_ before I get a chance to use them and that just ruins the frazzle every time. You know, now that you mention it, it might make a good basis for a fertilizer, at that...”

  


Even after judicious use of healing potions, Maren was still limping as they searched the room. How she was going to get back up Yoshimo's damned rope, she had no idea, especially as Montaron was probably in worse straits than she was, if he was even still alive. After Irenicus, she would never mistake the sound of torture for anything but what it was.

They moved quickly, not bothering with stealth anymore as they checked trunks, shelves, and anything else that looked like it might be big enough for a halfling's body. After the third time she found herself accidentally in the thieves’ way, Maren went to listen at the doors on the inside wall. From one, she heard the unintelligible murmur of distant conversation; from the other, near the place the ghosts had emerged from, only an odd cheeping noise.

Frowning, she shifted her blade to one hand and opened the second door. There was a... a _birdcage_ in there, or that's what it looked like to her; an overgrown, giant's birdcage. The lone, absurdly small sparrow in it chirped again, then fell silent as she let herself in.

Laid out on a small table, hidden from the door by a large potted plant, was Montaron's body. His neck and arms were twisted at disturbing angles, though blood was still oozing slowly from minor wounds: very freshly dead. Maren bit her lip against the familiarity of it, against the bile rising in her throat, and went to him quickly.

There were sparrows' feathers tangled in his hair - or so she thought, until she found that when she tried to brush them out, they wouldn't come away, and when she went to pick him up he was far lighter than she judged he ought to have been. What had they been _doing_ to him? she wondered. What had they interrupted here?

 _Unnatural,_ Jaheira's voice said again in the back of her mind, but she shook it away, balancing his slight halfling’s weight against herself so that she could carry him and her sword at the same time. Montaron’s armor and weaponry were nowhere in sight, but she hadn't expected them to be - no doubt the Harpers had repurposed them already. But that would be for Xzar to deal with, unless the Zhents decided to join her on Irenicus’ trail. At this point, unsavory as some might think they were, she’d welcome their loyalty... such as it was.

Jan appeared in the doorway of the room just as she made her way out of the aviary. "We haven't found a thing- oh," he said, interrupting himself with a grimace as he spotted the body in her arms. "That's our friend, there, is it?"

She didn’t know if _friend_ was quite the word she’d have used to describe Montaron - ally? comrade? but she nodded anyway; there wasn't any point in trying to explain it and no time to try, in any case. "We should get out of here."

"You think as I do," Yoshimo said from behind Jan.

  


Light as Montaron was, carrying him was still awkward on her wounded leg, and she ended up having to sheath the sword anyway to manage the stairs to the terrace. When she reached it, they were waiting for her, flush against the wall so as not to be seen from the ground below.

"So," Yoshimo said. "Getting back _up_ and out of the district... I don't suppose you have another of those illusions, my good gnome?"

"Alas," Jan answered. "If I had known last night that we'd be sneaking around today I would have made sure to study up, but the adventuring business is even more unpredictable than mobile vegetable peddling."

The problem was, Maren thought, that even if Yoshimo could manage a second distraction, she still wasn't looking forward to climbing the rope with only half the use of her leg and now a corpse slung over her shoulder. And, even if she succeeded, there would be nothing remotely stealthy about it, despite the cover of darkness.

No, that wouldn’t work. But there _had_ been a couple of little freight punts tied to the float below. Most likely they were trapped to deter thieves, despite the difficult access to the Harpers' dock - but she'd already seen Yoshimo's uncanny expertise with pick and needle back in Irenicus's dungeon. And, if Jan's stolen permit held, she thought he ought to be able to defuse any magical presents the Harpers might have left on their crafts.

"Let's not go up," she said, rewarded immediately with their full attention. "If we _borrow_ one of their boats and head south, we can put in across the inlet, near the Promenade. I think I saw a temple to Ilmater there."

"A warrior, a thief, and now a pirate?" Yoshimo said with half a smile. "Truly, if you always acquire new skills so quickly, I may begin to pity our foes."


End file.
